


Plus One

by alienqueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienqueequeg/pseuds/alienqueequeg
Summary: Mulder convinces Scully to let him be her plus one at an old friend's wedding.





	1. Chapter 1

"I didn't know you had a wedding coming up,” Mulder commented as he fingered the invite stuck to her fridge by a magnet. 

“Well, I haven't RSVPed yet,” Dana replied, sheepish.

"I can see that. According to this, they wanted an answer three days ago."

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m calling her tomorrow."

“What’s the verdict?”

“I won't be going."

"How come?"

"We haven't been close for years and I don't have anyone to take with me and anyway I'm sure some humanoid creature will start leaving bodies and I won't be able to even make the wedding because I will be dragged to a flight to God-knows-where.”

"Hey, I've been very respectful of your weekends lately. It's been—" He counted on his fingers. “—Five weeks since I've woken you up on a Saturday."

“Thank you?”

"I should get one of those signs,” he went on. “‘It's been 53 days since I've interrupted Dana Scully on one of her well-earned days off.'"

She rolled her eyes.

"Who is this Paige anyway? Or was it Aaron who invited you? Is he an old flame? Is that why you don’t want to go?”

“Paige invited me and, uh, she was my best friend in high school, actually."

“Ah. You still in touch?"

"We have lunch every year or so." Dana realized it had been almost two years since she had even seen her.

"You should go,” he insisted.

"I just told you..."

"I'll go with you!" To her dismay, his excitement was growing. “I will ignore any and all reports of humanoid creatures committing murders and I can be your plus one. Two birds, one stone."

“I dunno, Mulder…Wouldn’t that be weird?"

"Why would it be weird?" He lowered his voice confidentially. "Are you ashamed of me?"

“That depends,” she said. “Are you going to start telling your favorite ghost stories to Paige’s Aunt Bertha over cocktails?”

“Apparitions, not ghosts. Technically speaking.”

“Exactly my point,” she groaned. 

"You should be there for your friend," he went on, placing a hand on her lower arm. "Plus, I can even drive, which means you can have as much wine as you need. Best case scenario, we get free food and get to partake in one of the most joyous celebrations in the human experience."

She gave him a look. “It stops being a joyous celebration of the human experience and more of a chore after the first dozen.”

"I guess I haven't been to many weddings," he admitted.

She fell into a guilty silence. Being invited to things sounded nice if you didn’t get invited yourself. She had countless more friends than him but she hadn't had a real conversation with any of them in years. When they talked about their lives, she was bored and jealous in equal measure; those emotions stirred together in a toxic cocktail that set her on edge for days straight.

"Well, I appreciate the offer, Mulder."

"C'mon, I'll make it fun."

She eyed his mischievous grin with suspicion. “Usually your idea of fun results in hospital visits. I just want to have a nice normal day."

"Best behavior," he said, raising his fingers in a salute. "Scout's honor."

 

* * *

 

His jaw dropped when Scully opened the door.

She was wearing a long dark red dress with a plunging neckline. Her hair was straight as always but one side was pinned back with something sparkly and floral. A barrette? A comb? He tried to focus on that rather than exposed cleavage and—oh, God—the slit in the fabric revealing a toned calf and strappy black shoes with low heels.

"Wow,” he managed. “You look...You look incredible."

She smiled shyly. “You’re not so bad yourself. I’ve always wondered what you looked like in a suit.”

He chuckled.

“Say,” she said. “Didn't this suit get something unmentionable on it about two weeks ago?"

"No, I don't think so."

She grabbed his arm and twisted it, revealing an acid burn in the fabric—something from green, caustic, extraterrestrial blood.

"Shit," he groaned.He peeled off his suit jacket and laid it over a chair. “We can always swing by my house on the way. I think I might have another one of these laying around.”

She glanced at her watch. “I don’t think we have time.” 

He winced. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine.” 

"Shirtsleeves it is." He studied her face for a moment and determined it actually was fine before a startling thought occurred to him. "Are my pants okay?"

He ran his hands down the front of his pants, twisting his thighs to examine any areas he couldn’t see. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Do you?”

“Hold still.”

She dropped to her knees. He felt a warmth on the back of his thighs, which he couldn’t identify as her breath or the natural heat of her skin. She was lingering, just like he did that night at Bellefleur, the tips of her fingers lightly tracing the fabric between his legs. That night, he realized he was primally attracted to her smell. Something about her pheromones made him want to possess her, to spend forever unraveling the mystery of her.

He wondered if she could smell him now and was having a similar response. Unlikely, he determined with a rueful smile to himself. But it made his cock twitch all the same.

She patted the side of his leg as she stood. “All clear,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Dana squinted against the sun, regretting not bringing sunglasses. She was grateful when they were told to rise and face the bride as it gave her eyes some respite. The groomsmen and bridesmaids were situated at the end of the aisle, some of the bridesmaids already wiping away tears.

Paige looked beautiful, her dark hair twisted up into something complicated with curls framing her face. She looked all the world like the traditional bride in a strapless gown with a longer train than Dana would have ever dared to wear. Arm in arm with her father, Paige beamed as she walked down the aisle.

Dana felt almost nothing, having only met Aaron once in passing when picking Paige up for one of their annual lunch dates. She was happy for her friend but knew nothing about their relationship.

She was disappointed that the vows were conventional, having assumed the Paige she had known would want to write her own. To Dana’s relief, the ceremony was over almost as soon as it started. The last wedding she went to, the ceremony alone took almost thirty minutes as the couple did something called a sand ceremony.

"You may now kiss the bride," the twitchy man in coke-bottle glasses declared.

Aaron dipped her for a full movie-style kiss, to the 'awwws' and sniffles of the audience.

"By the power vested in me by the state of Maryland, I now pronounce you man and wife." Dana chafed at 'man and wife,' wondering where the outspoken feminist she knew in high school had gone.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sniff to her left. She was dumbfounded as she watched Mulder brush a tear away from his cheek.

"Are you okay?" she whispered into his ear.

He glanced at her, embarrassed. "Yeah. Weddings always make me cry."

"I didn't know that," she said lamely.

She took a look at his hand resting on his thigh and laced her fingers through his, giving him a little squeeze. When everyone started standing, she released his hand and they dutifully followed the crowd to the refreshment tables and open bar.

 

* * *

 

Dana’s stomach dropped as she recognized the person they were seated next to. Her ex-boyfriend’s mother hadn’t changed her hairstyle since the early 80s and it was still dyed the same impossible shade of pinkish red. Sharon turned as they assumed their seats at the round table.

“Dana!” she exclaimed with a polite smile.

"Sharon, please meet my partner, Fox Mulder."

"Pleased to meet you, Fox. So how long have you two been together?"

"Five years,” chirped Mulder.

She shot him a murderous look.

"Wow!" Sharon said. "And you're 'partners.' How progressive."

"Something like that," Dana said.

"How do you know Dana?" he asked.

He was really doing that. Taking this opportunity to use her first name like that. She considered stabbing him with one of the forks neatly framing her plates.

"Oh, I'm Marcus's mom!”

"Marcus?"

"I'm sure she told you about him. They were together for years."

"Four years," she said, glancing at him. "I have told you about him. You know, my high school boyfriend?"

"Ah, right, of course,” he said, playing along.

"And two years of college, don't forget!" Sharon went on. Dana hardly counted those two years; they were long distance and both too apathetic to admit it was over as they threw themselves into their studies.

Sharon continued. "Marcus was so sad to miss it. He and Belinda just gave birth to their second child and she's recovering from a c-section so he can't just fly across the country right now.”

"Oh," Dana said. "How is she doing?"

"Just fine. Her first birth was the really hard one, hence the c-section." 

"How old is their first child?"

"She must be about three now. They sure grow up so fast. Say, do you and Fox have any children?"

"Nope," Mulder chimed in helpfully.

"Are you planning on having any?"

"Um, no," she managed. "We are happy with the way things are." 

"You say that now..." She fixed them with a meaningful look. They both blinked at her. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

Mulder nodded and Dana kicked him under the table, harder than she intended. He mouthed an “ow” in her direction.

Sharon continued, "I just had a friend who had some serious complications from a pregnancy. She was 45 and it was nonstop problems from the beginning. All I'm saying is, you don't want to wait too long."

"Well," Mulder started. "Considering overpopulation is the biggest environmental and economic crisis our species has ever faced, I believe it's irresponsible to reinforce the narrative that people need to reproduce in order to be happy. Having children means both contributing to the problem and condemning a child to a life of diminishing resources and opportunities. How many ice caps are melting as the direct result of people making babies out of a sense of obligation to family and society, rather than any desire for personal fulfillment?"

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," Sharon said, pushing back her chair. "Excuse me; I’m going to see if I can give my congratulations to the groom before they start serving. It was wonderful to see you, Dana." She stared him straight in the eye. "Fox."

As soon as Sharon’s back was turned, she stifled her laughter in her fist. The effort of suppression made her eyes water and she was worried it would start a chain reaction. Laughter was so close to crying and she felt all day like a raw nerve.

"I didn't realize you felt that way about children," she said when she collected yourself. 

"I don't," Mulder said simply. "I hope to get a chance to be a father one day. But that's not any of her business, is it?"

"No, it's not."

A server came by with a bottle of white wine and they both held up their glasses with gratitude.

"Mulder, why did you lie to her about us?" she said, suddenly serious.

"But we have been partners for five years."

"You know what I mean. You lied by omission. You obfuscated.”

"You said you didn't want to show up at a wedding with your coworker. I thought..." He trailed off, genuinely confused.

She sighed. "I guess we never did discuss how I was going to introduce you."

"Exactly."

"It's just if she starts asking more questions or telling other people we are together, it's going to be much more awkward."

"So how do you want me to introduce myself?"

"Tell the truth. That you are my friend."

“To friends,” he said, holding out his wine glass. They clinked glasses and both took large gulps.

“So…was Sharon always like that?" Mulder inquired.

"Worse," she admitted. "She was always so suspicious of me. Thought I was corrupting her son."

"You? Corrupting?" His eyebrows raised.

"I hung out with some older kids.” She shrugged. “You know how moms can be. She was never a big fan of me, though she was always nice to my face. Until she wasn't."

"Something happened?"

"It was nothing." The blush came hard and fast as she remembered the look of horror on Sharon’s face when she opened the door that summer afternoon when she and Marcus were playing hooky. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure I believe you. You’re all pink now. Even the tips of your ears.” He lightly pinched the top of her ear and she shivered, though her skin was burning. "I think there's a story here."

"Um, she walked in on us one time. Oh my god, I can't believe I'm telling you this." 

“In flagrante delicto,” he mused. “How bad was it?"

"You can use your imagination."

"My imagination is going wild. Do tell."

"You'll have to get a lot more drinks in me for me to paint you a picture."

"I'm painting pictures as we speak."

She caught his eyes wandering to the flush that was now making its way down her chest. She was grateful for the distraction when the tables filled and the first course started to be served.

Sharon returned to her seat, but she didn’t acknowledge them for the entire meal.

 

* * *

 

The DJ started playing ‘It’s Raining Men’ as the crowd of women gathered in the middle of the dance floor.

“Something tells me it’s time for the bouquet toss,” he mused.

"Is it too late to escape to the bathroom?" she mumbled in his direction.

"'Fraid so. It might look a little obvious at this point."

"I shouldn't be out there."

"Why not? Are you secretly married?"

With an eye roll, she dutifully stepped up to join the crowd of giggling women.

Paige stood at the stage in front of the DJ, her back to the crowd.

He didn't want Scully to be any more mortified than she already was, but he couldn't help chanting _catch it, catch it, catch it_ in his mind as the bouquet flew through the air in a neat arc. It landed in the grasping hands of a beautiful young woman in a pink sundress with braids down to her waist. She gave a little squeal and the women closed in.

Scully moved back to his side and let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God I don't have to carry that thing around for the rest of the night.”

"C'mon, Scully. You're telling me there isn't a little part of you that's disappointed you didn't catch it?"

"Shut up, Mulder."

 

* * *

 

As the bass line to ‘Thriller’ began, Mulder pulled her into the dance floor with a grin.

Dana groaned as he started going through all the moves from the music video. At least Mulder didn’t seem to expect her to dance along as he spun around her, jumping and clapping his hands at all the appropriate times.

She couldn’t help laughing as he fell back against her in the universal zombie pose, grabbing at her shoulders from behind. “How the hell do you remember all those moves?”

“Practice, Scully. Lots and lots of practice.”

“I have to admit I’m impressed.” Mulder was surprisingly light on his feet.He widened his eyes and jerked his body, a perfect imitation of Michael Jackson’s cinematic transformation. She laughed appreciatively and sipped her chardonnay as she watched his performance.

When the song ended and a slow beat began, she tried to make her escape. Mulder took her wine glass and set it on a nearby table, pulling her flush against him to assume the slow song position.

To her horror, he started singing along. "I've never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight, never seen you shine so bright."

"Mulder, this song is so cheesy.”

"Laaaadyyyyy in reeeeeed," he crooned, ignoring her weak protest. "Is dancing with me. Hmmm, I don't think we can manage cheek to cheek."

She started to regret the kitten heels as much as she was regretting the burgundy dress. Yet she couldn’t stop smiling at the romantic words sung in his surprisingly on-key voice, at the way she felt wrapped in his strong arms.

"Cheek to chest?" he suggested.

She was just tipsy enough to let him pull her head against his collarbone, right where he had unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his tie. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to indulge in his familiar scent. He smelled like safety and danger and home.

His fingers ran down the exposed skin on her back, leaving a trail of goosebumps until they rested just inside the fabric of her dress on her tattoo. Any question about whether he remembered or even knew about its placement was put to rest when he started moving his hand in a slow circle.

He stopped singing along, but she still heard the lyrics as if they were written for her. With the line about "complete and utter love," he pulled her in a little closer.

 

* * *

 

They sat at the steps outside the reception building, arms linked, nursing their drinks—Mulder had long since switched to tonic and lime—and looking at the stars. Far from the smog of the city, he could almost make out the smudge of the Milky Way.

"Scully, do you want to get married?" 

Her eyes widened, and he clarified. "Generally speaking."

"I mean, sure. I used to. It doesn't seem to be in the cards for me." She let out a bitter huff.

"Why do you think it's not in the cards?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Scully’s eyes met his. He could spend a thousand years with her and never stop being unnerved by that impenetrable gaze.

"You know you could have any guy you want, right?"

"Getting a date is easy. Maintaining a relationship, that's a lot harder. Maintaining a relationship to the point of marriage. Well..." She laughed bitterly. 

"What do you mean?"

She seemed to consider not answering, turning away from him. He thought she was shutting down the conversation but instead she took another sip of chardonnay. "It was always me. I was always the reason why my past relationships went failed. They felt more strongly about me than the other way around. Frankly, I don't know if I'm capable of a long-term relationship."

"It's not like that with us."

"Yeah.” Her brow furrowed. “Obviously."

“I mean, I know we are talking about different kinds of relationships here but I've learned a thing or two about you. You're the most loyal and passionate person I've ever met. I'm just saying, I know you. I can tell you're more than capable of sustaining a long-term relationship." He stopped to consider. "Maybe you never found someone to hold your interest."

"I think you might be letting me off the hook."

He shrugged. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

"So do you want to get married?" she asked.

"Sure I do. I love the concept of that kind of stability. Having someone that's your rock, that you look after and they look after you. Sometimes I think I would be a great husband but mostly I dunno."

"Why's that?"

“Beyond the whole involvement in a global conspiracy thing? You don't exactly look at me and think 'husband-material.'"

"I see a man who loves with his whole heart and acts selflessly for the people he loves. Who knows when to bring flowers and can eventually be trained to remember birthdays. Plus you have that whole tall, dark and handsome thing going on."

"How many of those have you had?" He nodded toward her wine glass.

She laughed and shoved him lightly with her side.

"Tall, dark and handsome, huh?"

"Oh, c'mon, Mulder. That can't be the first time anyone's told you you're a good-looking man."

 _No_ , he thought. _But it's the first time you've told me._

A shooting star split the sky for only a second.

"Make a wish," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a long time but no other shooting stars appeared.

 

* * *

 

Dana eyed the woman to the left of her as she scrubbed her hands with characteristic medical thoroughness. She was one of the bridesmaids; Dana remembered the way the woman’s professionally curled ringlets glittered gold in the sunlight, a beacon that distracted from Paige’s subdued brunette prettiness.

"I just have to say. That boyfriend of yours, he is hot. Congratulations." She pulled out her lipstick, running it over all the places it had rubbed off.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"He's not?" The woman popped her lips. Her dress was sinking in the front and Dana could see the hint of an areola.

"Nope," Dana said, giving her an 'I don't know what you want from me' smile.

"Sorry, I get chatty when I'm drunk. But he's really single?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Damn. He's, like, so cute."

"Yup," she agreed, dragging the word and popping the ‘p.’ 

"Do you know if he likes kids?"

Dana saw flashes of Mulder with Emily. Images she watched on a masochistic loop on dark nights. "Yeah. Yeah, he does."

The woman let out an excited gasp. "You have no idea how hard it is, dating as a single mom."

"I suppose I don't." She sighed, drying her hands with a paper towel and waiting for the woman to start telling her exactly how hard it was.

"All the cute ones are already taken with kids of their own, or else they get scared off as soon as they hear I do. Like, I get three children is a lot to take in but at least you can be a father without the whole, like, diaper and waking up in the middle of the night to a screaming infant experience, you know? Seems like a win-win to me."

Dana didn't trust herself to speak.

"Sorry, I'm rambling again. Gin and tonics go straight to my head, I swear! Anyway." She pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen.

No, Dana thought. Please, God, no.

‘Lindsey,’ the woman wrote. The wine rose in her throat as Lindsey started writing the area code of her phone number.

"Can you give this to him? Your friend, I mean." She giggled.

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse.

“What’s his name anyway.”

“Mulder. Fox Mulder.”

"Tell _Fox_ the blonde bridesmaid wants to buy him a drink."

She handed the paper. "I'm Lindsey, by the way. I mean, obviously." She glanced at the paper and laughed again.

"Dana," she said flatly, taking the paper. The bathroom and the other woman seemed to dissolve around her as she stared at the phone number in her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Dana! And don't forget to give that to your friend." She turned to leave, now speaking to herself. "Those arms. Day-um!”

When the door shut, Dana darted into a stall and dropped the phone number in the toilet like it was a snake. She kicked the flush and watched the tiny paper spin into the watery torrent until it vanished.

Outside, Mulder was still waiting in line for the men's room. She regarded him, his tousled hair, the broad smile that cracked across his face the second he saw her, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his muscled forearms. He was so beautiful, she thought. It was a miracle Dana didn’t have encounters like the one she just had in the bathroom all the time.

He wouldn't have wanted to call her anyway, she told herself. She wasn't his type. And yet she couldn’t help considering what a wonderful stepfather he could have been to those three kids. "I would love to be a father one day," he had admitted not three hours ago.

"Can you believe this?" he said. "I thought the lines to the women's bathroom were supposed to be the long ones."

She managed a smile. "Can I have the keys? I'll wait for you in the car."

The moment she hit the seat, she collapsed into sobs.

 

* * *

 

When he unlocked the door, he could see that Scully had been crying. Hard. Her eye makeup was somehow intact but there were tracks on her cheeks.

"Oh," she said, bloodshot eyes flashing up to meet his for only a second. "That was quick."

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" His muscles tensed for a fight on instinct.

"I'm fine. Tonight was just...a lot."

"You got through it like a champ. That Sharon was a real 'see you next Tuesday,' if you know what I mean."

She ignored the comment and turned the light on the mirror to powder her face. With a swipe of lipstick, her mask was back on.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you here,” he sighed.

"Take me home, Mulder," was her only response.

When he pulled up to her apartment, the silence hummed between them.

Scully was the first to break it. "I had fun tonight," she said. "I'm sorry about...earlier. I guess wine and weddings make me maudlin."

"It happens to the best of us. Hey, you caught me crying during the service and I don't even know those people. Weddings make all of us a little batty, I think."

She smiled at him thinly. Her red-rimmed eyes had turned bright green. He gulped.

"Come in?" she asked.

 

* * *

 

They sat on her couch sipping hot mint tea, gossiping good-naturedly about the people they encountered that night. Scully was curled up against the armrest with her mug between her palms and Mulder was resting his stockinged feet on her coffee table.

He couldn’t help blurting, “So are you going to tell me what Marcus's mom saw when she walked in on you two?" He waggled his eyebrows. Still time, she wore a sly smile instead of a blush.

"What the hell," she relented. "Let's just say I was prone and completely naked."

"Receiving?" he asked pointedly.

"Receiving," she affirmed.

"Good man, Marcus. In that respect, at least."

She arched a single brow.

"What? I believe in reciprocity."

"A gentleman _and_ a romantic, if tonight is any indication."

"Guilty as charged." He gave her a crooked smile. "But surely men who are enthusiastic about, uh, reciprocity aren't that few and far between."

She shrugged. "In my experience, a lot of them seem to think it's a chore. Must be a macho thing."

"They think going down on a woman makes them less of a man? That's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

"I didn't say it made sense."

"It makes no sense at all," he agreed. "Getting to know a woman's body, learning how to make her lose control. It's the best kind of intimacy."

"Better than..?"

"Don't get me wrong. It's all great. I just can't wrap my head around loving a woman but not wanting to go down on her all the time." He raised his hands. "But that's just me."

"Fox Mulder: gentleman, romantic and cunnilingus connoisseur," she quipped.

"You can put it on my tombstone."

She giggled and it was the best sound he ever heard. "I can't believe we're talking about this."

"Me either," he admitted. 

"You started it," she teased, slapping his arm lightly.

"I'm pretty sure you started it when you told me that little story about Sharon."

"It's not my fault that's all I can think about when I see her."

They both laughed.

He took his feet down from her table and crossed his legs away from her. The last thing he needed was for her to think he couldn't handle a frank conversation about sex without getting a boner like some creep. 

When he looked at her again her eyes were fixed on him, her expression strange. She must have seen it, he realized with dismay.

"Mulder…About what you said tonight? That I could have any guy I wanted?” 

"I meant it."

"What if I want you?"

Her eyes were bright, her pupils wide. She set her mug down and moved closer to him. He didn’t say a word as her cool fingers stroked his cheek down to the line of his jaw. When her plush lips touched his, he felt like he was floating above the couch, watching the scene play out.

He froze as she hiked up her dress and straddled him. This time she opened her mouth to let his tongue in. She tasted sweet and a little minty. As his tongue slid against hers, she ground her hips against him, moaning into his mouth as his arousal rubbed against her center.

She only broke the kiss to work her way down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt as she sucked and nipped at him.

She gave him a seductive smile as she dropped to her knees between his legs. When she started reaching for his belt, he took her hands gently.

"Scully, wait."

Her smile was gone and his heart ached. She recoiled back to the edge of the couch, as far away from him as she could get. "Sorry. Shit. Sorry." 

"No, no, don't apologize."

"Christ, this is humiliating," she muttered. 

"Scully, it's not that I don't want to..."

"Please don't explain yourself. It's fine. I misread the signs." She drew her knees up, curling into herself. "It's fine," she repeated. 

"You didn't misread anything," he promised. "But you were crying in my car like an hour ago and I don't know if this is you or the wine or if you're, I don't know, going through something." She opened her mouth only to shut it. “If this goes further, I feel like...I feel like I might be taking advantage of you when you're vulnerable."

Her face darkened at the last word. Now that he named it out loud, the walls were up and the claws were out.

"Right," she snapped. "My delicate lady brain can't handle being single at a wedding. I just throw myself at the nearest available man."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He clenched his jaw.

"It sounds like you think I don't know my own mind," Scully continued. "You know what, let's just blame it on the wine. I think it would be easier for both of us."

"Scully...I would give anything to spend the night with you. The fact that you want me to, it blows my goddamn mind, okay?" He dug his palms into his eyes. "It's killing me to say this but it can't be tonight. It just can't. I'm sorry."

"You should go."

"Jesus, Scully. I don't think you're hearing me."

"Please go," she begged. "I need to be alone."

"You're kicking me out because I won't put out? I won’t apologize for taking this seriously.”

“Taking it seriously? As opposed to what? What exactly are you saying?" Her knuckles were white as she dug her nails into her palm. He wanted nothing more than to open her fists and kiss the crescent imprints.

“Not what you're thinking. If you would just let me explain..."

"You can stay on the couch tonight if you want. But I need to get up early tomorrow and it's been a long day," she finished lamely.

"Tomorrow's Sunday."

"I have mass." He knew she hadn't been in months and she wasn't a good liar.

"For fuck's sake. You want me to go, I'll go. See you Monday," he said on his way out the door.

One foot in the hallway, he turned around. She was standing in the middle of her living room, tears on her cheeks and her mouth open. He rushed up to her and pressed his lips against hers, pulling her into a deep kiss.

She wasn't listening to his words so he tried to tell her with his mouth. Tell her that he had been pining for her since the moment they met and it ate him alive every day. That she was his last thought when he went to sleep and his first thought when he woke up. That he lied; he never cried at a wedding before. He just hadn't been to a wedding since he met her. He couldn't stop thinking of the impossibility of him being the one lifting the veil from her face and sliding a ring on her finger and kissing her in front of everyone and a hypothetical God. That if he lost her because he was listening to his dick instead of his head and his heart, he would never forgive himself. That all she had to do when she woke up tomorrow was say the word and he was hers, body and soul, forever.

He knew she couldn't hear him but he was a believer in impossible things.

He broke away and planted one final kiss on her forehead.

Neither of them said a word as he shut the door.

 

* * *

 

The next day, he left two voicemails on her answering machine.

"Scully. I just wanted to let you know I had a really great time yesterday. And I'm sorry for the way we left things. I shouldn't have stormed off like that. But I would have felt worse if you did something you regret. I just…I needed to know for sure." Pause. "I need to talk to you. I really need to talk to you."

"Scully, please stop screening my calls. I..." Sigh. Click.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, they pretended it never happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Dana was watching Frasier reruns and working her way through a pint of diet ice cream. It was bland and grainy but gave her a vague impression of comfort food. It did nothing to distract from the Mulder Problem, as she had internally started to refer to it. She had yet to find a distraction that worked, but that didn't stop her from trying.

It had been a month since Paige's wedding, and she knew that something irrevocable had shifted between them. She and Mulder were many things but never awkward. As soon as they met, she slipped into friendship with him like a pair of well-worn jeans. They had an ease she never experienced with anyone else. Sure, they had their rough patches but this was something else entirely.

The first week, he watched her every move. She was no stranger to being scrutinized by Mulder, but there was something else there, something pleading and despairing. They both knew it was up to her to bring it up—she kicked him out of her apartment and didn't return his calls, after all—but she never would. They were at a stalemate.

The second week, he saved her life. They split up chasing a suspect through a labyrinthine warehouse. She got cornered, gut-punched to her knees, pulled into a chokehold. As the darkness started to seep in the edges of her vision, she heard a gunshot.

When she came too, he was everywhere. His overcoat falling all around her, face close enough to feel his ragged breaths, fingers on the pulse in her neck, shaking her by the shoulders. After she started coughing, he held her for a long time murmuring about how he thought he lost her and—was she imagining it?—inhaling the scent of her hair. She indulged in his embrace until the ringing in her ears faded and her strength returned.

When they broke away, she became aware of the uniforms surrounding them with their strange looks. She wanted to shout at them: What the hell where they looking at? How could they presume to know anything about their lives?

Through the sea of moving bodies, she caught a glimpse of the figure slumped against the wall. Dead from a single shot to the temple. Chunks of grey matter and bone against the black blood. Drip, drip, drip from the exit wound into the seeping pool. Another murder for her, like a cat leaving a dead rat at her doorstep. _See? I did it for you._  She shivered.

She accepted a trauma blanket from someone, but she didn’t want it. Mulder was her trauma blanket.

The third week, a well-meaning elderly neighbor approached her in the elevator: "That guy who's always around? Did he get what he needed?" At Dana's confused look, the woman explained she saw him pacing the hallway the night before. When asked what he was doing, he muttered about needing something from Dana's apartment but disappeared. She connected the dots: Mulder had come in to work that day with uncharacteristic stubble and dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if she had broken him. For the next few days, she was on the alert for a knock, but it never came, and she stopped waiting.

Earlier that night, he didn't look at her once during a two-hour drive home from a case. She slumped against the door, ostensibly dozing but in reality, torturing herself by objectifying him. From the corner of her eye, she roamed his jawline, the subtle swell of his muscles against his sleeves, those long fingers wrapped around the steering wheel with white knuckles. Inexorably, her gaze landed on his crotch. She had seen him naked plenty of times, but until recently his erect penis had been something of an abstraction to her. She could still remember how it felt rubbing against her. How desperately she had wanted it inside her. How she still did.

_Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been I-don't-know-how-long since my last confession. I can't stop thinking about my partner’s cock._

He still didn't look at her when he stopped in front of her apartment. All he gave her was a brusque, "Night, Scully."

If he hadn’t impeded her, what would it have been like? Would it have been slow and deliberate, Mulder mapping every inch of her body before entering her? Or would it have been rough and animalistic, the kind of sex she would feel for days? What would it have been like waking up with him next to her? What did Monday morning look like in that alternative universe?

At one point, she almost talked herself into going home with a stranger at the bar down the street. "The best way to get over a man is to get under another," Missy used to say. She got as far as ordering a drink, but none of the other men at the bar appealed to her. They were either too young or too old or too married. All of them too 'not him.' She knew she would just close her eyes and pretend it was him inside her; that was more depressing than she wanted to contemplate.

She missed her sister more than ever. Missy would know what to do: get over him or go to him. Her advice would probably be offered unsolicited, intuited from observing cataclysmically grim energy between the two of them.

She contemplated visiting her mother, but that would mean naming the problem: "Mom, how can I stop being in love with my partner?"

The laugh track on the television seemed to mock her. She considered turning it off and masturbating in the silence, but the act had recently lost its appeal. She could no longer come unless she was thinking about Mulder. The last time, she screamed into a pillow after her orgasm because it was better than crying.

She could quit the Bureau. She would make good money as a full-time medical practitioner, enough to afford a house close to the ocean. When Mulder visited her one day to tell her all about his wife and kids, would she still remember how his mouth tasted?

It was so much easier before she all-but-confirmed how good a physical relationship with them would be. Kissing Mulder, it felt like the first kiss she'd ever had. Like they were newly learning what their bodies were meant for, and her world was bursting open with possibility. All the nerves in her body awake and singing.

Her self-pity was interrupted by a knock at the door. She put a robe over her camisole and pajama shorts and returned the pint to the freezer.

Speak of the devil. As she opened the door, his fist was raised to knock again, and he let it fall by his side. A hint of sour bar stench over his familiar smell, his tie loosened around his neck and his jacket over his arm.

"I didn't wake you did I?"

"No."

"Good."

"Mulder, have you been drinking?"

"No. Well, yes. I had one drink. Over about four hours at that bar down the street."

She wondered what would have happened if he had been there when she contemplated a one-night-stand.

"Sorry about the smell. I think it's going to take three dry cleanings to get the cigarette smoke out of this suit." A half smile. He lifted the coat on his arm and dropped it, then sighed. "I think you know why I'm here," he said finally.

She tried to keep her face blank.

A small, humorless laugh. "That look, that's the look you give suspects."

She said nothing.

"Scully, we need to talk."

"Come in." She held open the door for him and watched as he set down his jacket over her chair. He looked at it for a beat, and she remembered that's where he put his ruined jacket before they left for the wedding. She studied his movements and determined he was nervous, not drunk.

She led him to her couch where they both sat, in imitation of when everything went wrong.

"This isn't working," he stated.

Her gut clenched. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Things haven't been right between us, not since...that night."

"No, they haven't." Her voice sounded small to her own ears.

"We crossed a line. This whole pretending-we-didn't thing, it's not working."

"Is this the part where you tell me you requested my transfer?"

"Jesus, Scully. No. Is that what you want?" There was genuine shock on his face.

She shook her head.

"I just, I miss you. I want us to be friends again."

Her voice cracked. "I see." _Friends._

"I have one question for you. I would appreciate it if you would answer it honestly and then you can tell me to fuck off if you want."

"What question?"

"If I spent the night...that night...do you think you would have regretted it in the morning?"

She took a second to calculate her response. If she told him she would have regretted it, he would drop it, and maybe they could attempt some semblance of normalcy after the agonizing tension of the last month. But how could she handle seeing him with another woman eventually? She couldn’t keep flushing phone numbers.

"No." The word stuck in her throat like she hadn't spoken for days. "Would you?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"If I did spend the night, would we still be having this conversation?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would we have gone through this whole song and dance? Pretending like it didn't happen?"

"I would hope not."

"Good." He exhaled. "Good."

They were quiet before she blurted, "Mulder, I have something to tell you. About that night."

His eyebrows lifted as he waited for her to go on.

"The, um, the blonde bridesmaid wants to buy you a drink."

"Huh?"

"She kinda cornered me in the bathroom. When I told her we weren't a couple, she asked me to tell she wanted to buy you a drink."

"Okay..."

"I'm sorry I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, Scully," he sighed.

"I can get her number from Paige if you want."

"I don't want her number."

"Oh."

"I don't even remember a blonde bridesmaid. All I remember is..." He fidgeted with the seam of his pants. "I haven't been interested in other women for a long time."

"What are you saying?" Some tectonic shift was happening, the world rearranging itself almost imperceptibly beneath them. There was a faint ringing in her ears—"warning bells," her mom used to say. Whatever was happening, they were not coming back from it.

"I'm saying I can't go back to the way things were. But I can't keep doing what we're doing now."

"What was all that about being just friends again?"

“I never said 'just friends.' I don't know if we ever have been 'just friends.' I want us to be _us_  again.”

“But we can’t go back to the way things were.” She knew she was being obtuse, but she needed to hear him say it.

"No, we can't. Maybe you could, but I can't. Because...Goddammit, Scully, I'm in love with you." The words came out in a rush but hung in the air. Her mouth fell open. She was floating above her body; the only thing tethering her to the physical plane was the thud of her heartbeat.

"I think that was you, that night," he went on. "Not some existential crisis or the wine but you. I think it was cosmically bad timing and I still feel I did the right thing. But you were doing something brave, and I hurt you."

She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't come. _He loves me, he loves me, Oh God, he loves me._

"I think the feeling might be mutual, but if it's not, I need to know. I need to know because I will need some time and space to—" He drew a shaky breath. "To get over you. I don't know if you've noticed, but I've got it b—"

She grabbed his cheeks and shut him up with a kiss. Their teeth clattered together at first, bringing her back into her body, back into reality. No matter how cosmic or divine this felt, they were still occupying two human bodies, fully capable of awkwardness.

His mouth opened beneath her, welcoming her tongue in its greedy explorations. One hand found hers and clutched it tight. The other ran up the length of her back. There it was again, that feeling like she had never been kissed before. Like she was new in the world and claiming her birthright. She realized what it was: she had never been in love before. Not like this, not even close. She had danced at the edge of falling in love but never gave herself over to anyone. When it had started to feel real, she had fled. But Mulder...he somehow managed to hold the power to break her heart. How the hell had that happened? She was terrified, exhilarated, adrenaline pumping like she was speeding down the freeway at 100 miles an hour. She wanted to hit the brakes. She wanted to go faster.

Her nails lightly scratched down his neck, catching on the collar of his shirt before continuing down his chest. She sucked at his lower lip, finding it just as plump and enjoyable as she remembered. She drew it between her teeth, but before she released, she bit down just a little bit, just to remind him that she could.

They stared at each other, panting.

She moved his hand to the knot of her robe, and he loosened the knot. He inhaled it fell open; they both looked down at her hard nipples pressed against the fabric.

He asked, gently, "Are we doing this?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "We're doing this."

Both hands were on her breasts. When she pushed her chest out, giving him permission, he squeezed, testing their weight in his palms that way men did, pinching her nipples. She gave a long, tremulous moan. When she shrugged to let the robe fall down her shoulders, he tugged the top down to expose her and lowered his mouth, one nipple between his lips and then another.

She guided him to the front of her shorts, and his hand slid under the fabric much too slowly. She lifted her hips to expedite the process, and his finger parted her vulva. She hadn't realized how wet she had gotten in the last few minutes. He certainly noticed; he was smirking when he lifted his face from her chest.

Those two long, slender fingers penetrated her.

"Feel how much I want you." He placed her hand on the erection pressing against his slacks. She rubbed it, loving the way it felt. _Mine_ , she thought with another rush of wetness. His cock felt like a present that was hers to unwrap. How strange it was, to know with paralyzing clarity this was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with but never having properly seen his penis.

"You're mine, aren't you?" The tendrils of his low voice curled around her.

"Yes," she gasped. His fingers crooked up, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.

"All this time." His fingers massaged her wall. "And I haven't claimed you." Her thighs quivered as his thumb pressed down on her clit. "Until now." She whimpered as his thumb moved in languid circles.

"I could make you come this way, couldn't I?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"Not yet." His fingers and thumb retracted; the absence made her feel empty. "I want to taste you."

Her clit throbbed. He pushed her back down, so she sprawled in the corner of the sofa, one leg on and one dangling off. She removed her top and let it fall on the ground, while he pulled her shorts and panties down in one sharp jerk. She thought he was going to take his time with it, draw her out with endless teasing but he merely pushed her legs further apart and buried his face between them, lapping at her with a pliant tongue while her hips twitched beneath him.

She ran her fingers through his hair, yanking a little.

"Mmm feels nice," he said in a muffled voice when her nails scraped at his scalp. Muffled by her cunt. She almost laughed but instead threw her head back and let herself get lost in sensation. His talented tongue exploring every inch of her, his silky hair in her fists, two fingers returned to slowly fuck her. She wanted to keep in contact with him so her foot explored whatever it could reach—his back, his arm, the front of his thigh. When it became too intense to do both, she hitched her legs over his shoulders, his head pinched between her thighs.

She called his name when she came with long, shuddering paroxysms. The name came easily to her; after all, she had been regularly calling out for him when she touched herself. When the convulsions slowed, he started to move his head away, but she drew him back down to ride out the aftershocks. He was out of breath when she finally pushed him away.

"Sorry I almost suffocated you."

"I'm not." He was beaming at her from between her knees, mouth and chin slick with her.

"You _are_  good at that."

"You had doubts?"

"No. But now I have proof."

She stood up, watching him where he knelt, still fully clothed. His eyes roamed over her naked form, followed by his hands. He rested his forehead against her stomach and stayed there for a few long, meaningful minutes. He planted a kiss on her abdomen between naval and mons, and when he looked up again, his eyes were wet.

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom where she removed the comforter.

Mulder started unbuttoning his shirt. "Let me," she interrupted. He dropped his hands to his sides as she worked her way down the buttons until the shirt opened up. She swept the button down off his shoulders, nudged the white t-shirt up, as he lifted his arms to help. She was careful as she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks. The erection straining against the fabric looked almost painful. She pulled out his cock and pushed his pants and boxers down, wrapping her hands around it and tugging at the engorged flesh.

He sent her tumbling to the bed with a light shove, and she fell with a squeak that made him grin. She squirmed to the top of the bed, as he stepped out of his pants, climbing on top of her. She yanked him down, wrapping her legs around him, loving the feel of his naked skin against hers, surrounding her, warming her. His cock pressed eagerly against her. She thrust her hips up, so his length rubbed against her, wetting his shaft with her arousal. His hips moved, and he was halfway inside her before either of them realized it happened.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m inside you.”

“I noticed.”

“Oh, good.”

She giggled, grabbing at his hips until he was flush against her, and they both moaned. Her inner muscles burned as they stretched to accommodate him, but she was careful not to let him see her wince. She didn't want his concern, and she didn't want him to stop.

She moved her hands up to his shoulders, clawing at him as he started a slow rhythm. As he lifted his torso up, her nails scraped down his back, and he hissed. He pushed her knees in, managing to get even deeper inside her, hitting all the right spots. She felt small beneath him, compressed into a ball.

"God, you feel good," he said.

"So do you."

"I wish you could see what I see right now." His eyes traveled up from where they were joined up to where her hair was fanning out on the pillow. "So fucking beautiful." He set her legs against his chest and gripped her ankles as he picked up the pace.

He wasn't out of breath when he eventually pulled out, just saying, "Give me a minute." She missed the feel of him already, so she stroked his shaft and found him slick with her juices. "Hey, that's not helpful," he admonished.

"Mulder, you don't need to worry about your performance."

"But I want to do right by my woman."

She loved the sound of that. _His woman._  "You have the rest of our lives for you to do right by me. Right now, you can start by fucking me."

She could almost hear him repeat "the rest of our lives" under his breath. She hoped she hadn't gone too far. Even though he affirmed his love, that didn't mean he was ready for a lifetime commitment.

He growled at her to get on all fours. She complied, resting on her elbows, ass in the air. He pawed at her sides, her ass, down her haunches.

"This is the best view in the house," he proclaimed. She trembled as he drew his tongue once more down her slit before giving her ass a hearty smack, making her yelp.

When he pushed back inside her, she cried out. He split her open in the best possible way; she was cleansed, restored, awash in an ecstasy she had all but forgotten.

There were moments when she left her body, carried away by pure sensation and drawn back, back to the man behind her, pushing into her with muted grunts, the fleshy feel and sound of his balls slapping against her, the way the humid air filled with their combined earthy smells. Voices and traffic noises floated in through the window, reminding her she was still in a city, that there were other lives out there, beyond where they were becoming one. A world out there where she was still a federal employee, where this thing they were doing was a fireable offense (the thought sent a fresh thrum of desire through her).

If she were to be Goldilocks choosing, he felt just right—not too big but certainly not small, like he was custom designed to gratify her.

Thank God their alchemy at work translated to the bedroom. Dana used to scoff at women that waited to have sex before marriage. Religious upbringing aside, it seemed ludicrous to her. She valued sex conceptually from a young age, at the same time when she learned it was connected to bodily pleasure, and she enjoyed her body. As a kid, she was tomboyish in her athleticism, and despite the best efforts of her priest, Catholic guilt rolled off her in her nocturnal explorations. The idea of having one person to be on forever sexual adventures with was fundamentally appealing. As such, the idea of marrying someone you couldn't experience that excitement with seemed as depressing as it was absurd. But what had she just done, if it wasn't marriage before sex?

He was pumping into her, and all she could think was _thank God_. It was a leap of faith that they would have great sex. But what if it hadn't been? How could they have survived that? And how was she going to have any alone time working with him? Would that be their undoing? And how could she deal with the rumors and innuendo once she actually had something to hide, without blushing and giving away their secret? Could this last? It was too good, too right, and she wasn't used to things this good and this right happening.

"Hey." His voice shook her out of her mental spiral. "Come back to me. You got quiet." He slid out of her, and she flopped over on her back, eyes squeezed shut.

"Hey. Dana?"

It was the use of her first name that did her in. When she opened her eyes, the tears came pouring out. She startled as she registered his face looming over hers. "Jesus," she muttered.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Sorry. This is just...a lot."

"It's a lot for me too." He gave her a soft smile and flopped over facing her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She rolled on her side. "Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?" It was meant a joke, but she regretted the words as they left her mouth. It wouldn't have been the first time she encountered a fake version of him, much less a version of him that was trying to seduce her that showed up at her house unannounced. Her breathing became shallow, and she couldn't seem to get enough oxygen. He was still staring at her with those dark eyes, and she stared back, feeling like Jimmy Stewart falling into the vortex in Vertigo, flattened to a silhouette by the whirling descent. She had to stop this thought process, or she would need to run to the bathroom for a Xanax.

"It won't be good for either of us if you pull away right now," he probed.

She opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind. "Yeah. You're right."

"Are these happy tears or sad tears?"

"Yes?" she answered with a shaky laugh.

"Are you having second thoughts?" She could tell he was struggling to keep his face impassive.

"No. I'm just having thoughts." She swiped at her cheeks, annoyed with her body's betrayal. "Sorry, I've never cried during sex before."

"Let the record show you didn't start crying until after I was inside you." He paused. "Right?"

"Definitely after. Its just...everything is different now, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Everything is different."

"And it's good-different, it really is. I mean, we get to do this now. But it's also..."

"Scary?" he offered.

"A little. Well, a lot."

"I keep expecting to wake up like this is a hallucination," he admitted.

"It's hard to believe it's happening, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. The small gesture filled her eyes with a fresh set of tears, which she tried to blink away.

"You are Mulder, right?"

"What, you think because I came over here and declared my feelings for you I must be a shapeshifter? You can't tell it's me?" He had the audacity to be hurt.

Her stomach twisted with indignation and guilt. "It's hardly unreasonable to ask, is it not? On two separate occasions, I've encountered an imposter version of you. The first tried to kill me, the second tried to _rape_  me."

He flinched and held up his hands in defeat. "What do you need?"

She considered. "That night in Georgia when we were stuck on the rock. Or at least, we thought we were."

He nodded. "I seem to remember you going on about my 'megalomaniacal cosmology.'"

"I was going pretty hard on you."

"I probably deserved it."

They smiled at each other in silence.

"What you were saying? About the boyhood thing you wished you had."

"Ah, trust but verify," he said wryly. "Nice to not be the most paranoid one for once."

She raised her eyebrow.

"You mean the peg leg?" He rubbed her shin with his foot.

"Do you still feel that way?" she asked, this time only out of curiosity.

"I don't think so, no." He didn't elaborate, and his expression darkened. "With Eddie Van Blundht, you really didn't know, did you? You spent a whole evening with him, and you didn't know?"

"Oh, please. It's not like I knew what you would be like approaching me with romantic intentions. Until tonight, that is."

He twisted his mouth.

"It's too bad I don't have a twin. We could pull some sitcom hijinks on you, see how far we could take it until you figured it out."

"I'd accept your challenge," he insisted. "I'd know."

"That remains to be seen." She kissed him on the lips, but his response was faint. He was scared too, she recognized, though for his own reasons. He confessed his love, and her panic attack stopped them mid-coitus. And she hadn't been able to say the words yet, even though they were beating against her skull, begging for release. They hadn't yet established that she loved him as much as he loved her, and the imbalance was a subtle thrill. As of this moment in time, she could keep one foot on the other side with all the benefits of a fulfilling sexual relationship. It wouldn't be the first time she had played it like that. But he looked so distressed and vulnerable, and she wanted to make the hurt go away, as she always did. And she realized she wanted him to know. She wanted the equilibrium restored. She wanted them to be a couple in love, with all the rewards and pitfalls. She wanted it all.

She said, placidly, "Mulder, in case you hadn't figured it out yet, I'm in love with you, too."

He kissed her hard enough to make her lips sting.

She pressed against his chest until he lay on his back, watched his wide eyes as she climbed on top of him, as his length disappeared inside her. She liked the view, liked having free rein to rake her nails down his chest, down the arms that could make her feel so safe.

She pushed her index and middle fingers between his lips, and he sucked at them dutifully. She moved her now-slick fingers down to her clit, showed him what it looked like when she rubbed herself until she was, again, calling his name.

He pulled her down, so her face was only inches from his, cupping it between his palms, jackhammering into her until his muscles tensed. "I'm gonna come," he told her, but she already knew. He looked into her eyes until his lids shut involuntarily and she watched the contortions of his face with fascination as he emptied into her. When he finished, she clenched her inner muscles just to make him gasp.

She flopped down beside him, enjoying the cool air and brief lack of body contact, as her body temperature started to return to normal. But he seemed to want to cuddle, so she allowed him to pull her against his chest. The steady thumping of his heartbeat calmed her down instead.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but they were beyond words.

* * *

Scully drifted off on his chest within minutes. Mulder was amused by the gender reversal, the woman passed out after sex while he lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about what had just transpired and petting her hair.

God, how was he ever going to deserve the love of this woman? _"The rest of our lives."_

He'd thought over the possibilities of what would happen during the weeks he'd been working up the courage to talk to her. He knew there was a chance it would end up with them having sex for the first time. He hadn't dared to hope for "I'm in love with you, too." He hadn't dared hope for forever.

He didn’t know how long he sat awake, peacefully stroking his partner, his lover, his woman. Thinking about all the ways he needed to be better, for her. He knew a relationship with Scully wouldn't be easy. They had years of baggage, and neither of them knew how to begin to wade through it. But if he was to be her partner in all ways, that gave his life a clarity, a focus that was ultimately a profound relief. If she was still by his side, if she was as happy as their lives allowed her to be, he knew he was doing something right.

She was smiling in her sleep. He had watched her sleep so many times but never saw her smile. His bladder was starting to throb, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb her.

Thankfully she started to stir. “Muller?” she slurred.

“Hi," he whispered.

She rubbed her eyes, a gesture that was so childlike and endearing his heart brimmed over.

“How long was I out?”

“Not sure.”

"You've been awake this whole time?"

"Yeah." He kissed her forehead. "But I really need to pee."

He reluctantly peeled himself away from her but turned around before he shut the bathroom door behind him. Scully's hair was adorably mussed, her lips swollen and pink. Her eyes were hooded with drowsiness, but she still wore that dopey smile as when she was asleep. She looked like a woman properly fucked. He vowed to make her look like that as often as she and life circumstance allowed.

"Hurry up," she mumbled. "I need to go too."

After what might have been the longest piss of his life, he dampened a washcloth he found folded neatly on a shelf and wiped off the sticky evidence of their sex.

As he opened the door, she padded over to the bathroom. Crawling back into bed, he took a moment to bury his nose in the sheets. There were hints of Scully's lotion and her fabric softener, but mostly it smelled like them. When he heard a flush, he lay on his back with his arms behind his head.

"I'm gone for two minutes, and you're taking up the whole bed," she teased. He could tell she just splashed water on her face because her eyelashes were damp and bunched.

"I have no intention of giving you personal space tonight."

He patted the bed, and she returned to her original position, snuggled up against him. She seemed fully awake now, eyes bright in the dark room. Outside, an ambulance howled in the distance. A crisis for someone else. Tonight, the world only consisted of the two of them.

"Oh!" he exclaimed when her hand crept down. His cock responded immediately as her fingers grazed his balls.

She didn't break eye contact as she moved down the bed and situated herself between his legs, taking him into her mouth for the best blowjob of his life. Partly because she was quite good at it and partly because it was _her_  (had there ever been a better sight than his cock passing between those lush lips?) but mostly because there was an energy to the act which he hadn't experienced before. Like it was as much for her as it was for him. Like she was trying to extract his essence.

She swallowed, wiped her mouth, shook her head when he asked if she wanted him to reciprocate. She just turned over on her side and nestled up against him, wordlessly asking him to spoon her.

After some hours they both woke with his arms still wrapped around her. When he adjusted, she started rubbing against him until he was hard again. He took her hint, spat on his hand and guided himself back inside her. They didn't say a word as he fucked her slowly, sleepily. She parted her thighs to allow him to bring her to orgasm with his fingers.

He pushed her down on her stomach, lay flush against her petite body, careful to keep her pinned but not crushed. The harder he pressed, the more her hips wriggled up to welcome him. He threaded his fingers through hers as she grasped at the sheets. She twisted her hands to compel him to grip them harder. She wanted to feel trapped, he realized, breathless. She ceased writhing when he bit her the back of her neck, a predator taking down his prey.

He held her down like that until he came, and when he lifted his head, he looked at the imprint of his teeth with awe, satisfied like a kid who just graffitied his magical discovery. Fox Mulder Was Here.

This time when she twisted around, she looked dazed, euphoric.

"God, you're good," she remarked, and he swelled with pride.

Sated, they slept like the dead.

The next time he woke, daylight was pouring through the blinds, and he blinked against the blinding brightness of the room. They were sprawled on their own sides of the bed now, Scully facing away from him, curled up in the fetal position. He kissed her temple and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her.

He put on his boxers and padded into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

When he returned back to the bedroom, she was sprawled on her back. Seeing an opportunity, he wormed his way under the sheets, parting her legs and kissing her inner thighs.

"Mmm. Tickles," she whined, lifting the sheet and looking down at him groggily.

"Eh?" he asked, looking up from between her legs and waggling his tongue.

"At your own risk, Mulder. You came in there twice not too long ago."

He grinned. "Don't care." He hardened his tongue and parted her labia, taking a lap at her clit.

"Do I smell coffee?"

"Mm-hmm." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "The woman has her priorities, I see," he intoned.

He fetched their coffee and went to sit next to her, but she was biting her lip with a now-familiar look in her eye. "I can multitask, you know," she proclaimed. "Why don't you finish what you started?"

He set down his mug and swept the sheet off of the bed to expose her naked body. She sipped at her coffee while he went down on her until he did something with his tongue that made her almost spill all over her chest and she surrendered, placing her mug next to his and moving her hands back to his head. God, he loved how she did that, playing with his hair idly until her legs started to shake and she pulled at it in fists. He never wanted to stop worshiping at the altar of her body.

"Did I mention how much I love the way you taste?" he mumbled.

"No, you did not," she responded, rolling her hips up. He smiled against her body, hoping she could feel it.

He wasn't surprised that she was assertive in bed, but it did delight him. One in a long list of things he learned he loved about having sex with Dana Scully—along with how easily he could make her come; the feminine yet guttural noises she made; how her breasts bounced when she rode him; how she caressed him like she never wanted to touch anyone else; how they could move together with that silent ease that defined their working relationship, intuiting the mechanics of each other’s bodies. He never felt he needed to stop and ask her, “Is this okay?” She told him it was okay without saying a word. Things were never easy for them but this, maybe this could be easy.

They rinsed off the sweat and stickiness in the shower. She gave him a spare toothbrush from a drawer—bless her for her pathological preparedness—and the corner of her mouth twitched when he set it in the cup next to her own.

As she started to gather her makeup and wipe the steam from the mirror, he embraced her from behind and kissed her neck. "Planning on going somewhere?" he inquired. She shook her head. "Don't. I never get to see you without makeup."

She gave him a funny look through the mirror that he couldn't quite read.

"What? Is it so wrong I want to spend some time with all these freckles?" He ran a finger down her cheek. "And that little mole you always cover up for no reason." He pressed the top of her lip.

"Fine," she said, curt but pleased.

She gave him one of her robes, the one that seemed to swallow her whole when she wore it, and it fit him just perfectly. “I guess that one is yours now,” she said with a shrug.

They took their coffee out to the living room, where she opened up the windows and let the daylight in full-force. He pretended to recoil, but her apartment looked lovely, bright and homey. He couldn’t remember if he had ever seen it at this time of day.

He wanted to ask her what happens next. He was afraid to leave her alone with her own thoughts where she might change her mind, overthinking all the practical reasons that a sexual relationship with him would be ill-advised. He was equally afraid of pushing her away by coming across as clingy. He wanted to take her at her word—“the rest of our lives"—but what if one wrong move would spook her? If her walls came up again, would he ever be able to break them down again?

She rubbed at his leg with a bare foot. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“My thoughts don’t come cheap. Fifty cents at least.”

“Seriously, Mulder. What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Nothing’s wrong, per se.”

“So why the—" She gestured at her own face. "The look?”

“I guess I couldn’t help thinking...if you change your mind about us. About this.”

“Mulder, when have I ever changed my mind about you? Besides, I’ve stayed with you this long, haven’t I? And that was without the great sex.”

“What you said, about the rest of our lives?”

She looked stricken. “I’m sorry, it was too soon to talk like that.”

“No, it’s not. Not with us, I don’t think. I don’t think I can do this if you’re not in it for the long haul.”

“You think last night was me satisfying a curiosity?”

“No, no. I’m just feeling...”

“Insecure?” she offered. A perfect reflection of their earlier exchange, he thought with mild amusement.

“Yeah. That.”

“If I learned anything last night,” she said. “You have _nothing_  to be insecure about.” He smiled at her compliment, but he wasn't reassured.

“Hey,” she said, moving closer to him on the couch. “We talked about everything being different, but I don’t think that has to be the case. It’s still you and me against the world. Only now, we get to do this.” She closed the distance to kiss him. When she pulled away, she whispered, "I love you" into his open mouth, and he could taste her sweet breath.

The first day of the rest of their lives, he thought.

He toasted sourdough for breakfast. Scully almost took it dry, but he made a face at her. “That’s just depressing,” he rebuked.

“It’s healthier,” she countered.

“Physically, maybe. Not psychologically.” He took the toast from her hand—"Hey!"—and spread a generous helping of butter.

“Ew, that’s too much.” She scraped off the excess onto her plate but closed her eyes with pleasure as she took a bite.

They didn’t leave her apartment all day. Mulder found her VHS stash and placed a couple of giant stacks of movies on her coffee table. Sometimes they watched all the way through, sometimes they stopped paying attention as they started making out like teenagers.

“I’m too sore to do anything,” she said sheepishly and seemed to expect him to want to leave knowing sex wasn’t on the table. He was secretly delighted that he had an excuse to kiss and fondle her all day without expectation.

He dug out a bag of microwave popcorn from her cupboards, and they debated whether it was still safe to eat since it expired a couple of weeks ago. She wrinkled her nose but he assured her it would be at worst stale, and besides, it’s so artificial what could possibly go wrong? She told him to go for it, that he was on his own, but it didn't take long before she started picking at the bowl.

They spent much of the day laying on their sides, Mulder assuming his new role as big spoon. When he put on Rosemary’s Baby, his gut started to clench as he wondered if he made the wrong selection. He grimaced at the rape scene, at the end with Mia Farrow accepting the baby that wasn’t wholly hers. If it bothered Scully, she gave nothing away.

They returned to bed for a luxurious afternoon nap, woke hungry and sweaty from the heat of their bodies pressed together. He talked her into mushroom and olive pizza for dinner.

He needed to get a change of clothes—his shirt still smelled like the bar, and his boxers were starting to get ripe. When he told her that, her face fell. She admitted she wasn’t ready for the weekend to be over. He offered to run home to grab some clothes and drive back, and she brightened. He was moved; this was a woman who valued her alone time, who was going to be spending every day next week with him, and yet she was still reluctant to let him go.

“Bring a couple changes of clothes,” she told him.

He was smiling the entire drive home and back, singing along with the radio and letting one hand fall out the window against the rush of frigid air. He returned with a spare suit (just in case), a pair of sweatpants, a couple of t-shirts and a few pairs of underwear. She showed him where in her closet to put his suit and, to his utter joy, the corner she hollowed in her dresser next to her pajamas and leggings.

He removed a lacy, silk negligee. “Hmm,” he said. “I like this. Wear it for me sometime?”

When she got ready for bed, she emerged from the bathroom wearing it. He ran his hands down her body, relishing the way the silk felt against her warm skin, the way her nipples poked through the fabric. Grabbing him by the collar, she drew him on on top of her on the bed, kissing him, rubbing against him until he told her his erection was getting painful and he should probably go take care of it if she would give him a few minutes in the bathroom.

“Don’t be silly,” she countered, reaching beneath his boxers to take him in her hand.

“I thought you were too sore?”

“My mouth isn’t too sore,” she responded with a sly smile. God, he loved this woman.

They slept for almost ten hours. He couldn't remember the last time he slept harder or longer, and he suspected the same for Scully.

He woke thinking, this is the second day of the rest of their lives.

She let him take her to breakfast that morning at a hole-in-the-wall diner down the street. The food was average, but it didn't matter. It was something like a first date.

Later, he drove her to the coast, parked at a beach he knew from childhood to be generally empty. They watched the sunset as the wind whipped their hair, tangling it and coating it with a gummy film. He had the foresight to bring a couple blankets, and they made love on the beach.

She told him she was still a bit sore, so he made sure she was more than ready, employing all the techniques he now knew made her wet—kissing her neck, sucking her nipples, murmuring dirty things into her ear, and, of course, bringing her to orgasm with his mouth. He entered her slowly, methodically, only picking up the pace when she started to get impatient.

When he dropped her off, they kissed for a long while in his car. She didn't invite him up. An unspoken agreement: no sleepovers on work nights.

He lay awake on his couch for a long time, the noise of the television doing nothing to lull him. He missed the coziness of her bed and her body. He hoped he could lure her over to his apartment next weekend; he wanted to see his own apartment cast in the sultry glow of them, together.

He wondered what was in store for him the next morning, suspecting they would both feel reborn. He thought of Scully entering the office just after him, her eyes bright, her tightest suit selected for the day. Maybe she would be reminded of their weekend together every time she sat down.

When he started to feel sleepy, his anxious brain would snap him awake with a familiar paralyzing fear. He couldn't handle losing her before they had made their feelings known and he knew that if it happened again, it would destroy him.

A thought occurred to him, and he picked up his phone. It was one in the morning, and she was undoubtedly asleep by now, but he never had much self-control when it came to late-night Scully phone calls. He would have to work on that. Starting tomorrow.

"What time is it?" she answered groggily.

"Sorry to wake you."

"Mulder, what's going on?"

"Something just occurred to me."

"What's that?"

"That time in Florida. When you came into the hotel room with the wine and cheese?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanted it to happen then, didn't you?"

"You're just now figuring that out?"

He was such an idiot sometimes. "Shit."

"S'okay, Mulder. Is that why you called?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going back to sleep now."

"'Night. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Click.

He was alone again, his apartment dark except for the cool glow of his fish tank. Alone, except for the love of a woman he didn't deserve. And he had a new quest—starting tomorrow and continuing forever—to be worthy of her.


End file.
